


on the darkest night I will be your sword, your shield, your camouflage (and you will be mine)

by starrylance



Series: the ballad of hisirdoux casperan [2]
Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: 1630, Angst, Archie is the best, Archie loves the boy, Crying, Douxie needs a hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Plague, day four: poison, douxie is fine, douxie is tired, it's in the past, written for the fictember challenge by akutadashi on twitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26409469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrylance/pseuds/starrylance
Summary: Summer 1630, Milan, Italy.He had fallen into a routine. Wake up early, dress up quickly and out of the door, to the hospital, to the streets, to the slums, where people reached out and asked for food, for medicine, for God. To the lazaretto, where people had ultimately altogether stopped begging for help and started praying, praying for some kind of salvation. To the lazaretto, where there were those who had just grown silent.or, douxie is stranded with archie in milan during the great plague, and he's very, very tired.no need to read other works in the series
Relationships: Archie & Hisirdoux "Douxie" Casperan
Series: the ballad of hisirdoux casperan [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919533
Comments: 14
Kudos: 54





	on the darkest night I will be your sword, your shield, your camouflage (and you will be mine)

**Author's Note:**

> hello, everybody. 
> 
> i'm here with my first fanfiction set in the tales of arcadia world. 
> 
> watching the show i found myself loving more and more douxie, and i think he's such an interesting character to write about, having lived for 900 years. 
> 
> this fic is part of a serie i'm planning to write. it's not very long, as i'm still trying to grasp the character of douxie, and not very historically-heavy, but i tried my best. 
> 
> thank you if you're reading this, hope you all have a nice day. also, english is not my first language, so please be kind! leave kudos and comments, if you want, i love them and i'll give you free cookies.

**the ballad of hisirdoux casperan**

**ballad four**

**on the darkest night I will be your sword,**

**your shield, your camouflage**

_(and you will be mine)_

_Summer 1630, Milan, Italy._

Douxie was exhausted.

He slowly closed the door, feeling his shoulder slumping and his legs weakening. _Another day is gone by. Amazing._

“Douxie, is that you?”

He grunted, leaning his head on the hard wood and letting his eyes close. He took a deep breath in, cold air filling up his lungs. He could feel them expanding rhythmically in his chest.

It had been a tiring day. Like all the others before since the beginning of this awful century, if he were to be honest with himself. _And like all the other days that will come, tomorrow included._ He wasn’t really looking forward to it. But what was there to do?

He had fallen into a routine. Wake up early, dress up quickly and out of the door, to the hospital, to the streets, to the slums, where people reached out and asked for food, for medicine, for God. To the lazaretto, where people had ultimately altogether stopped begging for help and started praying, praying for some kind of salvation. To the lazaretto, where there were those who had just grown silent. No sound, no words came out from them but the exhalation of weak breath and the occasional gasp of pain.

Those people scared Douxie.

Something passed between his legs and he opened the eyes, meeting the gaze of Archie.

He attempted a smile. His face felt too heavy to mold into anything better than a grimace. “Hey, Archie. I’m home,” he managed to croak out.

The cat huffed, raising his black tail higher. Douxie cowered under his scrutiny. Those yellow eyes were going to be the death of him. “I can see this,” he blurted out, his tone dry.

“You know you can be less obnoxious, do you? There’s no need for this attitude of yours.”

“You love my attitude!”

“Only when it’s not directed to me.”

Archie scoffed, and crunched his nose. “Well, there’s no one else here to direct it at, isn’t it?”

Douxie sobered. _He’s not wrong._ They were on their own, somewhere far away from home, stranded in the middle of a plague, and he was surrounded by death with only a talking dragon in a cat costume as a companion and a useless bracelet. No home, no Merlin, no magic.

No magic.

He looked at his naked arm. The skin was pink and unscarred, if not for the red, thin scar on the hand. It seemed wrong without his bracelet, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. _Except slaving for Merlin and doing whatever he says until he gives it back to me._

That had been a new method of punishment from his master. One he hoped, after this was all over, he wouldn’t have to go through again.

Now, though, he had to work here and make sure people didn’t die from the plague that was spreading across the country. Or, well. It was more like making sure people didn’t die in a too painful way.

It was hard. Watching and knowing every single one of them was going to pass away and step into darkness.

If it hadn’t been for Archie, he didn’t know where he would be now.

He was pretty sure life would have been even harder.

Douxie checked out Archie. The cat was sitting down facing the room, his tail swaying swiftly side from side, head held with a too carefully built arrogance. With a sigh, he sat next to him. His companion didn’t even flinch.

_I guess I deserve this._

“I’m sorry, Archie.” Even to him, the words felt weak and useless. _You’re no good even at apologizing. How do you expect to earn your magic back? You can’t even treat nicely the ones you have by your side._

_Shut up,_ he replied. Then he shook his head. _I’m talking with myself, now. Yeah, that’s totally great._

If he was going to turn crazy, he should at least take his revenge against his master.

His words may have been weak and useless, but Archie was now staring right at him, piercing eyes Douxie knew for a fact were not going to leave him be until he _talked_.

“It’s been a difficult day,” he attempted, and then he repeated, for caution, “I’m sorry. Really. I like your attitude. It keeps things interesting around here, at least.” Archie cracked a smile, and Douxie’s stomach felt a lot less tied up. The familiar padded his way to him and stood between his legs.

“You’d die of boredom, I believe, without my presence.”

“And I believe you’re terribly right.” Absent-mindedly Douxie started to pet him.

The fur was soft on his fingertips, and shiny, which was a wonder, since they didn’t have any means of taking care of it. But, he thought about it, there never was a time his fur wasn’t in perfect conditions. Must have been dragon’s magic. Or Archie really took care of it whenever he wasn’t around to see.

All these centuries together, and still so many secrets and mysteries between them.

The scar itched under the skin.

He did his best to ignore it.

Instead, he focused on the sounds that came from Archie. Tired as he felt, the action managed to turn his lips up.

_Thank you, Archie._

“Somebody left?”

He hummed.

A young child.

With his free hand, he reached the long sleeves of his tunic. His fingers clenched against something round and he pulled it out.

He showed the marble to Archie.

It was gray, dirty and a deep crack ran its course over the surface. Nothing well-polished, not like the ones he would sometime see at the markets, or adorning gentlewomen’s neck, or in the hands of the children of the richest.

“She gave it to me,” he worked around the lump in his throat, “before she, uh, left.”

Archie brought himself closer to the marble and, after a few seconds of stillness, he started to sniff it.

“What – what are you doing?” he tentatively asked. Was something wrong with the girl’s gift?

Apparently satisfied, Archie drew back, and began to scratch his ears.

“It smells like flowers,” he simply said, and that was all.

_Flowers? Maybe those they use for the ailment?_ “Must be from the mask she wore.”

“Mmh, it’s more like an old trace. But it’s safe, you needn’t worry.”

_An old trace, uh._

He gently caressed the marble. The girl had worn a blue, long, mended dress, and two ponytails. She had been around the age of eight. All her life ahead of her. Weeks and months and years laughing with cheer. Generations. She had this at her disposal.

And now, there was nothing to remember her, except that gray marble.

Death was a scary affair, but not as much as being forgotten. Not even a memory.

Douxie was so tired.

Holding on tight on the stone, he found it hard to breath.

“Douxie?” Archie called out, but he couldn’t find the strength to answer.

Only eight years old. She should have just began living.

But, instead, she had died. All alone, in an ugly, smelly street.

In a moment of lucidity, before her eyes clouded, she had asked him if she was going to see her mother ever again. He had held her hand and promised that her mother was already waiting.

And then.

Then she had died.

And it had been quiet.

Her grip on him had loosened. He had let go and gone home.

Eight years old.

Home.

With a startle, he realized Archie was still trying to grasp his attention. “I’m fine,” he said.

_Stupid, as if he’s going to believe that now that you freaked out._

“It’s okay, Doux.”

It didn’t feel okay.

None of that was okay.

Little girls shouldn’t die like that.

But Archie was purring and shoving his snout on him and his tail was around his chest and his words were kind, at least, and he was bone-tired, he was barely holding himself up, he was getting blind of light.

“It’s okay, Douxie, it’s okay.”

He remembered a time when he was playing hide and seek with Morgana, when he would try to catch Merlin off guard, when Camelot was still his place. Before the city was lost forever to the passing of ages and before magic was forgotten.

When he had a place to call home.

Tears welled up. A sob came to life.

Archie’s voice was soothing. “Cry. I am right here. It’s okay.”

And so, he cried, hugging Archie close to him, clinging desperately onto the girl’s legacy. _I’ll remember you, I’ll remember you, I’ll remember you._

Between his tears, the marble seemed to hide a green sparkle.

_I’ll remember you, I promise._


End file.
